


Overthrow

by SoongTypeDisaster



Category: Ratha Series | The Books of the Named - Clare Bell
Genre: Blood, Contest Entry, Gen, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoongTypeDisaster/pseuds/SoongTypeDisaster
Summary: After an unsuccessful hunt, a group of Un-Named raiders have a change in leadership.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Overthrow

The cat lay hidden in the shadows of the brush, yellow eyes faintly blazing in reflected moonlight. Out in the clearing he could see them... the beasts that the clan cats kept for themselves. He bared his teeth in silence. How he hated the clan. Not only had they taken the best patch of land for themselves, but this abomination before him... they stole the best prey and kept them corralled as though they owned them. It was unnatural. Every real cat knew that ownership only began when your fangs touched flesh.  
  
He knew full well the clan cats looked down on them, him and his kin. They paraded around, thinking they were smarter, better, just because they spoke in strange tongues and called themselves by silly names. What need had he for a name? He knew his companions by their call, their scent, the way they moved. He could understand what they wanted by the movement of tail and whisker. What need had he for words? He already had what was important in life… hunting, fighting, mating… he had been reasonably successful at all three.  
  
The hunting, however, had dropped off of late – all the fault of the clan, from the look of it. Their herds had grown, which meant they were capturing more and more of the wild prey he and his kin needed to survive. Yet the Named seemed so upset and shocked that his family would continue to attack. The food was here. This was where they hunted.  
  
A pair of eyes flashed opposite him. That was the signal from his brother, who led the hunt. His tail twitched once as he prepared to move, eyes trained on the male herder nearest to him. That was his job on this hunt. Handle the herders while the others killed and carried the prey. A growl came from the other end of the clearing, and he and his fellows burst from the trees all at once. He struck the nearby herder, shoulder to shoulder, and knocked him down. He moved in for the kill, but just as his jaws snapped for the herder's neck he felt something hit him from the side, shoving him away. He whipped his head around, focus shaken from the herder, to see one of his fellow hunters clumsily careening away from the spot – one of his own, acting on a failed signal from his brother. Such blunders were inexcusable.  
  
From there it all devolved into chaos, with herd beasts thundering around in panic, herders fighting both to keep the animals in check and to fend off their attackers. He was unable to get another good blow in amid skull-shattering hooves. A strangled snarl came from the middle of the fray, and the Un-named turned back to the trees and ran off.  
  
They returned from the hunt unsuccessful. By the scent and sight of the blood on the jaws of his fellows, they had killed their prey, but the mishap with the herders meant they could not clear the way to drag the beast home. Not all of their number had returned. He looked around the group and fought back a yowl. One of them had been his son – a fine hunting partner even if he would become a rival in another few seasons. It was then that his brother turned to him, staring him down as though he were to blame.  
  
"You failed, Mudjaw." His brother smirked a little at his own stupid joke in naming him, staring at the dirt where the clumsy one had thrown him.  
  
He felt his hair rise, and there were a few uneasy shuffles among the hunters. The words frightened them, as though they were some evil spell meant to harm them. How dare his brother snarl in such a tone, how dare he use that foolish gibberish like some clan cat, as if that made him smarter, better. Enough was enough. It was his brother's failed leadership that lost them the prize that night. His brother, who used his words but didn't even know how to direct his fellow cat, how to speak to them. His brother had lost them their prize, and it was time to remedy that. His ears flattened, tail lashed as he snarled out his challenge. The reign of this word-using tyrant would end tonight.  
  
His brother barreled into him before the circle had even formed. This time, "Mudjaw" didn't fall. As he rose to meet the tyrant, they locked in an almost bear-like stance, both cats' paws pushing to keep the other's head away from his own tender throat. But his brother was clumsy, and paw came too close to fangs. Mudjaw crunched down to the tender bones, crippling the foot as his brother reeled back in agony. His brother was no more than a weakling, having never been challenged by cats that feared his words. He took the chance to strike, claws raking heavily against the fool's face, scraping an eye as he did so. The tyrant tried to fight back, tried to bite at his foreleg as it swung near once more, and caught it for a brief moment, but Mudjaw was quicker. He thrust his head downward to where his brother's jaws were locked, twisting and grabbing the tyrant's muzzle from above and biting down. His leg was released as he heard a satisfying crunch from beneath his own jaws. Even his kittens knew how to fight better than this, and the tyrant knew it. His brother had relied too long on the others' fear and superstition, had been too proud to notice as Mudjaw watched the fool's every move, calculating, waiting for failure. And now the word-user was afraid.  
  
So, when Mudjaw lunged forward, his brother ran, three-legged and squalling, preferring banishment to subservience. By the way the new leader spat in his wake, every cat knew that their former tyrant was not welcome to ever return.  
  
The victor took a moment of dignity to wash his face, clear the mess of mud and blood, as though washing off the very memory of his brother, and the foolish name he'd been given. What need had he for a name? He had his scent. He had his claws and teeth. That was what the Un-named respected. So, when at last he turned and faced the hunters – his hunters – they all bared their throats to him in submission, knowing the law of fang that had been laid out this night. Something that was half-growl, half-purr rose from his throat as he turned back toward the herd lands. Oh yes… they were returning for that dappleback tonight. And this time they would not fail.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally an entry in a contest held by Clare Bell and her publisher, which won the "adult" category (it was divided by author age group), and won me a couple of signed books. Clare herself commented on the original posting, which naturally made me absolutely giddy. You can see the original post with her comments here: https://www.deviantart.com/lyrak/art/Overthrow-291786223


End file.
